


Neutron Star Collision

by MoodyAquarius



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel problems, Bunker Fic, Destiel - Freeform, First Time, Fluffy, Hurt!Cas, M/M, Realizations, Slow Burn, They bang, dwindling grace, hurt!comfort!, no homo Dean, season 10, season 10 issues, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 06:18:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3371003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoodyAquarius/pseuds/MoodyAquarius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean sighed heavily, rolling his eyes, “Jesus Sam when did you hit menopause?”</p><p>A sudden rush of air filled the room, followed by a cough and a thick, rough voice, “Dean, I don’t believe men can experience menopause.” The brothers nearly gave themselves whiplash turning their heads to meet the source of the sound. Cas flashed a grin then sputtered a mouthful of blood down the front of himself, wobbling on his feet.</p><p>Lol I have no idea how to summarize. <br/>Title is from Muse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neutron Star Collision

Thunderous laughter could be heard reverberating throughout the thin walls of the expansive bunker. After he regained his breath, wiping tears from his eyes he hollered, “Sammy! C’mere you gotta see this!” His laughter died into huffing giggles. He grabbed the remote and rewound the episode of ‘America’s Funniest Home Videos’.

Sam’s big DM’s could be heard wandering into the room, “What?” his eyebrows knit together like something was wrong. Dean turned on the couch, signalling Sam to look, pressing play and biting his lip to hold back the chokes of laughter.

“Dude, dude, watch.” He hit play and watched Sam’s face as the video played an old lady stumbling, hitting a plastic chair and falling backwards into a boat. He burst at the seams with laughter once again, but Sam’s eyebrows only furrowed more in concern.

“Dean, that’s not funny, she’s probably really hurt.”

Dean tossed his brother a glare, muttering, “Killjoy” and grabbing his beer up off the coffee table. Sam caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, zeroing in on the forming stain on the aged mahogany table.

“Dean!” He jumped forward, grabbing a coaster from the set of coasters he had intentionally bought and shown to Dean weeks ago. Dean sipped his beer with narrowed eyes. Sam stood in front of him, pushing his mud-crusted boots off the table, holding the coaster in front of Dean’s face, “See this? Coaster. You put it under your beer, so it doesn’t ruin the damn three hundred year old table. Okay? Coaster, say it with me, coa-”

Dean sighed heavily, rolling his eyes, “Jesus Sam when did you hit menopause?”

A sudden rush of air filled the room, followed by a cough and a thick, rough voice, “Dean, I don’t believe men can experience menopause.” The brothers nearly gave themselves whiplash turning their heads to meet the source of the sound. Cas flashed a grin then sputtered a mouthful of blood down the front of himself, wobbling on his feet.

“Cas!” Sam made it to him first, rushing and holding him up, saving him just barely from getting a faceful of floor boards. He held all of his weight until Dean quickly grabbed the angel’s other arm, shaking his shoulder,

“Cas, what the hell? What happened?” Dean’s voice took a panicky pace, fluttering out of him like hummingbird wings, his mouth barely quick enough to spit it out. The angel’s VanGogh blue eyes reeled around, trying to find Dean’s. When he was unsuccessful he dropped his head, stooping over his slack shoulders, muttering,

“Nothing really.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two soft knocks landed against Castiel’s door, he heard a grunt from within. Sam entered, smiling weakly, “You think you could eat?” A few days had passed since the initial ‘grand entrance’ Cas had made back into the Winchester’s lives. Sam held a large encyclopedia balancing a bowl of soup and a glass of water on it.

Cas’ eyes were docile, shining through a dull filter above the deep, dark bags under them. He sighed and let his chapped lips pass a weak smile, “We’ll see, I suppose.” Sam cautiously brought the food to him, carefully setting the book they were using as a food tray in his lap. Cas frowned, looking at the soup then to Sam, “I’m sorry for th-”

“Cas.” Sam’s eyes were on him fiercely, eyebrows hard and forehead crumpled. “You’re sick, and you’re not leaving here until you get better.” He steadied the ‘tray’ and stepped back, face hard and lips pursed with conviction.

“I don’t think it’s that simple this time, Sam.. I’m not.. ‘sick’.” He air-quoted and eyed his soup like he was about to cage fight it. He sipped at the water. Sam tried to ignore the fact that he just heard that, licking his lips and concluding,

“Well, you’re still not leaving like this. You’re family.. and you’re not.. well, so..” He felt his throat get dry with the emotional words coming out of it. He coughed slightly, folding his arms and flashing his eyes to Cas’ face then away, “Eat your soup.” He left the room with one last concerned look at Cas, leaving the door slightly cracked open in case he needed anything.

Despite himself, Cas felt his chest grow warm and full with the second hand experience of what he could only describe to himself as love coming off the brothers. He wiggled his toes against the thick comforter Dean had bundled him in, scooted back against the pillows Sam had fluffed for him, smiling a small, secretive smile and touching the spoon connected to the soup. He brought it to his lips, then drew it back, remembering how Dean had taught him to blow at it before eating. He’d learned the hard way the first time. He got approximately four spoonfuls of soup down before his stomach lurched and rejected it, luckily he was quick enough to grab the bowl the brothers had left at his bedside, unlike the first time. He emptied his stomach with a grimace and a horrible guttural noise scraping out the very heart of his throat. The sound of himself vomiting made him purge a second time, but with nothing left but water to throw up it mainly just made his muscles ache.

He breathed out with shaky, weak sigh, setting the bowl aside and grabbing the soup bowl with weak hands, wobbling to set it aside. Soup spilled down the sides, burning his hands, but he got it onto the nightstand, which he considered a success. He gulped and sunk into the pillows, pulling the comforter up to his shoulders, trying to slow his pounding heart. He felt his grace pulsate like a lighthouse trying to guide lost ships back to shore. He felt his temples begin to pulsate as well, his whole body sending desperate Morse code out to a heaven that wouldn't receive his message. Biting his lip to distract his mind with other, more sharp pain, he tasted blood and fought his way to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of bones cracking snapped his mind to attention, showing his eyes that it was his own foot crushing down on the forearm of Dean Winchester. His eyes were bloodshot from screaming, voice hoarse and nearly useless; Cas looked down at his broken, disfigured arm and without a second thought picked up that lovely head of hair and forced it backwards like a child with a barbie doll, effectively snapping his neck. He fell to the concrete floor, face emotionless, eyes wide and green like a leaf in the sunlight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Dean!” He jolted up out of bed, hyperventilating and holding handfuls of soft bedding in his grasp. When he opened his eyes to the darkness surrounding him and realized he was here, now, in the guest bedroom at the bunker his eyes welled up with tears. He couldn’t hold back the flood of furious, terrified tears that poured down his face, making his cheeks hot and fingers cold. He dipped under the sheets and curled himself into a ball, arms holding his legs, chanting to himself in a mantra, ‘it was just a dream, just a dream,

just a dream..’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a week since Cas had shown up coughing up blood. What really worried Dean was the fact that he was otherwise untouched, his clothing was pristine, not a hair out of place, yet he spewed a mouthful of blood all over himself, unprovoked. Angels can’t get cancer, right? No, that was a stupid thought. He stared down at his bowl of Lucky Charms, dodging the marshmallow pieces, saving best for last.

“Morning.” Sam walked past him, laptop under his arm, empty coffee cup in hand.

“Morning..” Dean spooned around the cereal absentmindedly. He stared at the charms which were starting to turn the milk in the bowl a light green color, sticking to the sides and begging to be eaten. He wasn’t hungry. Sam sat down next to him, sipping coffee out of the gigantic mug Dean had bought for him that had Bill Nye on it and said “BILL, BILL, BILL” in big red text. Sam studied his brother’s face for less than five seconds before optimistically asserting,

“He ate some of his breakfast today..”

Dean muttered, “Yeah but did he keep any of it down?” Sam didn’t reply. Dean boiled in the silence between them, suddenly bringing his fist down on the table, then grabbing handfuls of his hair, “It just doesn’t make any sense!” He growled into his hands, tugging at the roots of his hair.

“Maybe he just needs time. I think he’s been improving a little bit since he got here.”

“I’ve never seen him this bad, what if-”

“Good morning.” A bundle of sheets stood in the doorway, a mess of dark hair sticking up in all directions atop of them with a plastered smile on his face. He walked slowly into the room, looking between the two of them.

“Cas what are you doing out of bed?” Dean instantly got up from his seat, rushing to the bundled angel. The bags under his eyes were deep and bruised looking, skin pale and seemingly breakable. Dean set a gentle, worried hand on what he assumed was his shoulder under the sheets, “Cas you need to be resting.”

“I know, but, my legs were getting stiff so I decided I needed to walk around.” He met Dean’s eyes. They studied each other’s faces. Dean nodded once but placed a protective arm around him, just in case he were to fall, of course. Sam minded his own business, opening his laptop and sipping quietly at his coffee. The two of them shuffled off down a hallway of the bunker, on a walk to nowhere in particular. Sam could hear their muffled voices passing throughout the place but was grateful that he couldn’t discern the words being said.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Dean, I don’t have to do it if you-”

“Sam it’s fine, I think I can handle it for a day or two. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? I just.. don’t want anything to happen and for me not to be here if you need me and-”

“Sam.” Dean grabbed his brother’s shoulder, “Take the damn hunt, it’s been two and a half weeks since you’ve left this place. Just go, man, I can handle one sick angel.” To be fair, the angel was starting to improve. He was able to eat at least a meal a day without throwing up, and no sign of blood coming up when he coughed so that was a good sign. He and Dean had begun taking walks around the bunker daily, trying to regain some of his strength.

Sam’s eyebrows drew together, “You promise you’ll call me if you need me?”

“Yes, and same to you."

“Okay.. This hunt shouldn’t take more than a day or two, really. Just some typical teenagers messing around in a graveyard sort of thing. Dumb stuff.”

“Have fun.” Dean chuckled, throwing back a glass of whiskey. They exchanged a few more words and Sam left, duffle bag in hand, while Dean reminded him for the second time if he did anything to Baby he would slit his throat. The bunker then got way too quiet, with Cas sleeping fifteen hours a day and Sam now gone, the silence settled into Dean’s bones. He shook it off and wandered into the living room, clicking the TV on to whatever crap was on at four o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon.

He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep until his phone buzzed with a text from Sam, saying “just checked into the motel here, alive :)”. The time of the text read 10:08. Dean scratched the sleep out of his eyes and sat up groggily, opening his phone and texting back a thumbs up. He scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling like he just got punched in the head. The TV was playing a re-run of the Simpsons.

He got up un-gracefully from the couch, hating the dry, gross taste in his mouth he always got from napping. He walked over to the sink and stuck his mouth under the faucet, washing it out with cold water, chugging at the same time. He rose and walked to the front door, grabbing a pack of gum out of his pocket and unwrapping a spearmint, greedily chewing it. He bet ten dollars to himself that Cas was still asleep.

He didn’t bother knocking and cracked the door open a tiny bit, peering in and looking out at the lump that rested there. A smile touched his face and he wasn’t sure what compelled him, maybe just to see if Cas was still alive, but he walked into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Hey, if anything this was payback for all the times Cas had appeared in places Dean was sleeping, staring at him unconscious like a socially awkward vampire.

He reached his hand out and placed it atop the pile of sheets, waiting to feel a rising and falling. He did. He sighed gratefully to himself and peered over at the sleeping face. He rarely got the opportunity to see Cas’ face ever free of stress or wrinkles or confusion. He couldn’t even name a time he’d seen him sleep, except maybe once when he was human.

He sat there, not thinking anything of it because nobody was around to correct him or point out the fact that it was a little weird. He watched Cas’ face as it lay perfectly still and unchanging. It gave him an odd sense of tranquility. He grinned when he saw the angel’s eyebrow twitch. A moment later his mouth twitched, followed by a scrunch of his nose. His face started to move more and Dean was afraid he’d woken him, but as he kept watching he could tell Cas was definitely still asleep.

He began mumbling, not making words but noises and broken phrases. His long fingers clutched at the pillow, face changing to an expression of anger. Dean watched his face switch from anger to fear rapidly, fingers clutching and mumbling intensifying. When Cas twitched and his hand flew out, accompanied by a shout Dean reached out and shook him, “Cas!”

His eyes snapped open and he flew up, hitting the headboard with his bare shoulders. Dean’s eyes fell on the tanned skin of Cas’ shoulder and neck. He met his eyes, “Were you having a nightmare?” Cas panted, running his fingers through his hair that stuck up in all directions like a kitten.

“Y-yeah…” He took long pulls of air to regain his breath and grasp of reality surrounding him.

“What was happening? It looked bad.” Dean held his face in a tight expression, worried to see Cas shaken from what was previously such a peaceful sleep. Cas slumped, rubbing his eyes and hiding his face from Dean.

“Just… a bad memory.”

“A hunt?”

“Of sorts.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Dean narrowed his eyes at Cas’ vague answers. He pulled his hands away from his face, studying his blue eyes in the dim light pouring in from the crack in the door, illuminating a strip of light up across the bed. Cas’ eyes were unreadable. “You can tell me, you know that. Maybe it’ll make you feel better…”

Cas gnawed at his bottom lip, voice getting shaky, “It was… I was.. remembering when Naomi was.. training me to k-kill you. I had to kill hundreds of you.. In so many horrible ways. She wouldn’t cease. After every one I killed ten more sprung up and her voice just kept booming in my head ‘Keep going, Castiel’ ‘Good work Castiel’. I…” He collapsed his head into his hands again and began to tremble.

Dean reached out and put his hands on his shoulders, cooing, “Hey, hey.. Cas. Look at me.” The angel lifted his head weakly, eyes not really focusing anywhere. “Cas, it’s over. Okay? It never happened, look at me. I’m right here, okay? You didn’t kill me.” A soft touch of humor coated his voice. “I wouldn’t let you.”

Cas remembered the hundreds of helpless copies of Dean, writhing in pain under his wrath, bones snapping, hoarse begging, screams being cut off by thick red, eyes burning out of their sockets. He shivered, dropping his head in shame again. He muttered brokenly, “I never want to hurt you, Dean.. I never want to hurt you.”

“You haven’t hurt me.”

“I wouldn’t, you know I wouldn’t.” Cas’ eyes were glazed over with budding tears.

“I know that. Now knock it off, okay? It was just a dream.” He softly punched him to lighten the mood. Cas returned what could be passed off as a smile, barely. Dean smiled back. They stared at each other for a few seconds before Dean realized he was still touching Cas’ bare shoulder and like that a fire hit the nerve endings in his hands. His initial reaction was to pull his hand away from the scorching fire, but a second longer and he realized he didn’t want to at all.

Cas’ eyes remained on Dean’s face, as if not realizing at all that this was the first time he’d ever been shirtless in front on him, and completely oblivious to the fact that Dean’s eyes were racing all over his exposed chest down to his belly button. Dean tried to ignore the fact that Cas’ skin was exactly as soft as it looked and to completely disregard the gentle lines of muscle defining his pecs from his abs. His face burned like embers and caught fire, mouth stumbling, “W-were you hot?”

Cas grinned at the random question, “What?”

“I-is it too hot in here.. is that why you took your shirt off? Because I can turn the thermostat down if tha-” He cut himself off, realizing how stupid and rapidly his words were tumbling out of his lips. He bit his bottom lip to prevent any more stupid comments on Cas’ shirtlessness.

“No, I’m not… too hot.” Cas cocked his head to the side in confusion. Dean’s eyebrows betrayed him and furrowed over his eyes with that same confusion. Cas continued, “This is just how I sleep.” Oh jesus fucking christ did he _always_ sleep naked? That was information Dean just didn’t need right now. He grumbled internally.

He stood from the bed to leave, for some reason his arm moved on its own, reaching over to touch Cas’ shoulder once again. He nodded encouragingly, remembering the original issue at hand, “Well I should let you get back to sleep. Luckily it was just a nightmare, buddy.”

Cas’ body coiled at the touch, his head tilted to the opposite side of Dean’s hand and suddenly his hand was there, on top of Dean’s, pushing it deeper into his trapezius. Dean didn’t have a good enough imagination to be able to conjure up the little sound Cas just made in the back of his throat, so he was astounded that it had actually just happened. Cas explained softly, with a sheepish smile, “It seems I’m beginning to take on human aches.”

Dean lowered himself back onto the bed, justifying that if his friend was in pain it was entirely reasonable for him to want to help alleviate that pain. He dug his fingers deeper into that rough muscle, earning a soft grumble from Cas. His voice was suddenly low, “Does that feel good?”

“Mmhm.” Cas curled toward him like a cat, turning so that his entire back was accessible to the hunter. Dean unintentionally got an eyeful of Cas’ lower back, all the way down to two dimples in his back, but the angel was shy enough to wrap the blanket around to hide his butt. He added another hand to the impromptu massage, beginning to dig deep into his shoulders, rubbing hard into the bundles of tight muscle. Cas let out a shaky little gust of air.

Dean continued to rub into his back, drifting down from his shoulders, his mind going on autopilot, silencing all the buzzing heterosexual defensiveness screaming in his head to stop. Why should he stop when it felt so easy? And if Cas enjoyed it too then what was wrong here? His father’s voice boomed in his head, making him flinch and draw back. Cas turned to ask what was wrong, but ended up not saying anything and instead glancing rapidly between Dean’s eyes and lips. His heart raced.

“Dean,” he began carefully.

Dean returned his gaze, signifying he was listening. Cas opened his mouth to ask if he could, but instead just leapt forward and did it anyway. Their lips met and smashed up against each other, locking into place. Dean jolted from the initial shock of the sensation, the feeling of Cas’ warm, soft mouth up against his too strange and wonderful to be true. He tilted his head, reaching up to softly cup Cas’ jutting jawbone and suckle at his warm, plump bottom lip. He ran his tongue over the shape of his lips, using the weight of his body to push Cas up against the rough wood of the headboard. Cas reeled, barely able to keep up, desperately reaching at the lapels on Dean’s flannel, tugging his mouth closer and closer to his.

Dean strategically moved a bow leg over across Cas’ middle to straddle him and keep him trapped up against the headboard. Cas was desperate for air, but he didn’t care, he would choose drowning like this over living another second without it, without Dean like this. His fingers scrambled for purchase in Dean’s clothing and neck, but found nothing substantial, so they traveled down to his hips, finding bone and muscle and warm skin. He gripped there, tugging the hunter closer and harder to his body, wanting every cell of Dean pressed up against every cell of him. Dean felt himself begin to harden at that bold movement and broke the kiss to gasp for air, panting, “Oh my _god_.”

Cas’ eyes were no longer blue, but black and wide with lust and pure, raw need. “Dean,” his voice was like sandpaper and it made Dean whimper like an animal in a cage. Dean rubbed a circle on Cas’ cheek with his thumb, eyes half-open and mouth slack from kissing,

“I have to say, I did not expect you to be that good of a kisser.” He looked drunk, showing off a smile filled with those perfect white teeth, cheeks rosy and eyes gleaming with excitement and need.

Cas’ chest swelled from the compliment and his face absolutely glowed with adoration for the man two inches away from his face. He put his hands up on either side of Dean’s face, feeling the stubble and warmth there, kissing the side of his mouth and confessing, “You’re every bit as perfect as I expected, even more so. It’s..” He sucked on Dean’s lip, “Astounding.”

Dean blushed, placing a hand on Cas’ chest to steady himself, remembering earlier, “Are you completely naked right now?” Cas chuckled, kissing Dean full on the lips, hard. He tugged him down over himself, lying under him and shrugging with a flirtatious grin on his lips.

“I don’t remember.” Dean’s heart raced. He couldn’t help himself and climbed under the sheets with Cas, pressing himself up against him, hands tracing down his hip and finding no underwear there. He burned, pulling his lips from Cas’ but never leaving his skin, trailing down his face, neck, sucking a hickey here and there. Cas writhed under him, clutching desperately at anything he could grab, as long as it was Dean. He pushed his hands up his shirt, growling and tugging it up off of him.

Dean raised an eyebrow at that, pushing Cas’ hands away, teasing, gnawing on his collarbone, “Patience, angel.” Cas burned, limbs scorching with desire to feel every bit, every ounce, every inch of his human. Dean’s remark made Castiel remember that he was in fact still an angel, albeit a weak one with dying grace, but still an angel dammit. He pushed up against him, flipping Dean before he could even gasp, pushing him down into the bed and growling,

“I will not be taking orders from a human, especially not you, Dean Winchester. I am an angel of the Lord, you’d do well to remember that.” With that, he fanned out his gigantic, hulking black wings behind him, eyes burning blue with the ounces of grace he had left; all of this to show Dean that he was still powerful and still a celestial being that could destroy him any minute he pleased. Dean moaned at the display, pants filling with a full, heavy erection. He reached up to touch the magnificent heavy wings, but was denied by a hand that grabbed his wrists and held them above his head. Cas yanked Dean’s pants off, then stopped for a moment to marvel at the sight. He released Dean’s hands and reached down to touch him, leaning down to gnaw on his earlobe and purr, “I’ve wanted to touch you for _so_ long.”

Dean gasped, shuddering and feeling his spine curl up, pressing himself into Cas, who wrapped an arm around him and held him close. Castiel’s hand stroked up and down his length, becoming familiar with it and gripping at random intervals, making Dean struggle for air. Not only was Cas, super-hot Cas, but powerful-angel-with-his-fucking-wings-out Cas gnawing on his throat, whispering in his ear and fucking him with his hand. Between the sight of his wings, the feel of his hand and the low purr of his voice; Dean really didn’t stand a chance of lasting. He came with a gasping moan, reaching up and wrapping his arms around Cas’ neck, riding out his orgasm.

“ _Caas._ ” Without a thought, Dean flipped them and pushed Cas down into the bed, forcing his wings to splay out and touch the walls of the room. Dean climbed on top of him, straddling and stroking at his long black feathers. He crawled up the angel’s chest, hoarsely begging against his throat, “Cas, I want you, I want it.”

Cas raised his eyebrows, “Dean, are you su-” He cut him off with a sloppy kiss, running hands through his dark, messy hair. He chewed on his lip for a moment, then tugged his hand up, sucking Cas’ long fingers, swirling his tongue around them. Cas’ eyes widened with amazement, watching Dean, feeling his heart picking up pace. Once Dean was done getting Cas’ fingers nice and wet he kissed down his long, slender torso, meeting his happy trail and finally his standing dick. He licked up the base, then took it in his mouth like it was nothing, sucking up and down, bobbing his head and showing off really. Cas’ eyes fluttered shut, using all his willpower to not fuck up into Dean’s mouth. Dean attempted deep-throating all of Cas, but pushed himself too far and came up gagging. Cas thought it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

Dean crawled back up Cas’ body, a grin playing at his lips, as he guided Cas’ hand to his ass. He sat himself down with a gasp, Cas tried to pull back because he thought he’d hurt him, but Dean grabbed his wrist, keeping it from going anywhere. He met Cas’ eyes with lust-blown green embers. He bit his lip and forced himself to move, hissing at the burning pain, but moving nonetheless.

Cas gripped his hip with his available hand, eyes glued to his face, content to go blind at this moment, having seen everything he ever wanted to see. Dean opened his mouth as Cas slipped in a third finger, he panted, squirming and mewling. Cas cooed, “I don’t want to hurt you, De-”

“You’re not, you’re not.” Dean chanted quickly, breathlessly.

“You’re sure about this?” Cas chuckled throaty, watching Dean’s expression.

“Yes! How many times do I have to say I want you to fuck me!?”

“Just once more?” Cas smirked.

Dean opened his eyes and glared down at Cas with a smile, his voice getting husky and younger, more like when they first met, “Cas,”

“Yes, Dean?”

Dean leaned over, down to Cas’ lip, kissing it softly and groaning, “I wanna fuck.” Cas’ eyes rolled back into his head, he gripped at Dean’s hair, growling and removing his hand, instead grabbing his hip and leading him over his hard, aching cock. Dean moved to do it, but Cas surprised him and grabbed both his hips in his rough hands and pushed himself in. Dean let out the strangest noise he’d ever heard him make.

Cas began to roll his hips up slowly, hands on Dean’s hips, holding him in place as his upper body slumped over and his face twisted in some unreadable, pained expression. Cas moved slightly to sit up, back against the headboard, taking a handful of Dean’s hair, the other hand still on his hip. Dean seemed to come to and open his eyes, which locked on Cas’, his arms moved to press his hands into Cas’ chest, one hand at his middle and one near his throat. Cas tugged on his hair and thrust up into him, leaning forward and moaning the hunter’s name deep into his shoulder.

They moved slow and labored, each thrust making their bodies jolt and shudder with sensation. The slowness was intense, it was everything building between them brought into a moment. They gripped each other, arms wrapped around, holding on for dear life, really having no idea what they were doing but gasping into the other’s skin for shelter. Their bodies had to adjust and learn to move with the other, legs tangling and finding ways to fit, arms holding tight, muscles flexing and searching for something hard to grab onto. With a few quick thrusts Cas came and gasped against Dean’s warm neck, words spilling against his warm, sweaty, tasty skin. Cas licked the sweat from his neck, loving the salty taste, teeth grazing, hoarsely asking, “How was that?”

Dean panted, arms tight around his angel’s neck, mouth on his skin, tasting his sweat as well and liking what he found, breathlessly answering, “Again, b-better than expected.” A few moments passed and they moved to release each other from that hold, collapsing on the bed in a heap.

Cas began to giggle, shaking the bed with his laughter, unable to stop. Dean flushed, defensively shouting, “What? What are you laughing at?!” Cas shook his head and tried to stop the laughter, but tears began forming and he couldn’t get himself to stop. It was like some kind of giddy flood, an attack he couldn’t stop. “What?! You asshole, what?”

When it died down enough for him to speak, Cas just breathlessly giggled, “We just had sex.” His chest shook with rumbling laughter, voice breaking, “We j-just did. We actually had s-sex.” He giggled harder, giggles turning to laughs and laughs turning to tears.

Dean stared at him, but proved to not be immune to it, catching the laugh too. He began to rumble with giggles, covering his face and chuckling, “We really did.” The two of them laughed, helplessly until they cried and neither could explain why. Maybe all the years of pent up pining and sexual tension finally being released had meant an aggressive case of the giggles, but they, two grown ass men, lied in bed and giggled until they got hoarse and surrendered to sleep.


End file.
